


A Rare Moment

by Foxipaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxipaw/pseuds/Foxipaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke takes a moment to reflect on the path her life has taken. A rare, fluffy moment of peace.</p><p>"There is no war within their tent.</p><p>The famine does not reach them there, nor the conflict in the north, nor the petty squabbles that wreak havoc on their daily life. The sun does not bleach their shirts, the rain does not weigh down their armor, mud does not coat their shoes. In fact, more often than not they wear nothing at all."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rare Moment

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy moment between Clarke and Lexa (even if Lexa is a bit unaware.) This is just a little One-Shot, and my first work on Ao3 as well! Enjoy!

There is no war within their tent.

The famine does not reach them there, nor the conflict in the north, nor the petty squabbles that wreak havoc on their daily life. The sun does not bleach their shirts, the rain does not weigh down their armor, mud does not coat their shoes. In fact, more often than not they wear nothing at all.

A cold winter night is held at bay by warm skin, humid breathing. It is stuffy, bordering uncomfortable, with the blankets and odd fur drawn up around their chins, but their hands are free to intertwine and in that joining their troubles seem small. When rough hands move over her hips and ribs and shoulders, down her arms and up her legs, nothing else matters.

Lexa lets out a long breath, and Clarke can feel her muscles unwind beneath her palms. 

The commander has her face buried in her shoulder, doe eyes closed in sleep. It seems nigh sacrilegious to see her like this, bare and prone, but Clarke cannot bring herself to mind because this Lexa is hers. The way her jaw relaxes, the way her brows relieve themselves of tension, the way her shoulders slump. Clarke had never thought of herself as a selfish person, but knowing that her lover reserves this open acceptance for Clarke alone makes it sacred. She would not share this with anyone, not for all the wealth in the world.

Her love burns her.

It fills her chest like boiling water, bubbling and searing and boiling over with the occasional kiss or the brush of her hand. Steam vents forth from her lips in 'I love you's and 'Never leave's. It warms her from the leathery soles of her feet to her sun-bleached hair, every inch of her body which has been hardened by the new life she leads.

It is all so different, yet in every aspect there is Lexa and she cannot imagine living any other way.

As if her soul has been taken over, molded in the heat and intensity of war and life and death and love, made anew into something more resilient and all at once weaker, because there is no flaw like love. Clarke knows it makes you do stupid things, like ride non-stop for three days in the midst of a monsoon because there have been reports of mudslides in the village your lover was due to inspect, because you are unable to sleep not knowing. Like threatening the life of a leader of a nation when they refuse to barter for one single herb, which could heal your love after they have fallen gravely ill.

Like offering up your body and mind and soul, and trusting the other to keep it safe.

Clarke was not familiar with this manner of dedication, but she did not have much choice in the matter. It was not a conscious decision, the way her heart ached when they were apart. For all the risk involved, considering a life without Lexa was infinitely worse, unimaginably intolerable and in all ways unthinkable. It would be like living without the sun. Without warmth, without all that gives you life and hope, a new day, a future. Clarke was Lexa's, and Lexa was hers.

This was not up for debate.

Lexa shifted in her arms, new angles of her warm body pressing flush against Clarke's, and the blonde woman felt heat rise in her cheeks. She ran her hand up and down her lover's back, fingers trailing along the path of her spine and burying themselves in the hair at the nape of her neck. She looked beautiful without her braids, clean of warpaint, face void of her stoic scowl. Softer and genuine and so very breakable. The thought made Clarke distinctly uncomfortable, and afraid.

Their world was fragile, and she knew it. The Clans bickered like a pack of wild dogs, struggling for an uneasy alliance until one reckless action sends them all into a frenzy. They snarl and squabble, she'd noticed, posture and parade their warriors around on 'diplomatic ventures' until a savage snap from the pack mother sends them back into place. Again and again and again.

Clarke knew it exhausted Lexa, physically and mentally. Managing relations between the Sky People and the Trikru was hard enough, and they were for all intents and purposes on good terms. She could not imagine keeping peace between so many groups who were, until recently, at war. Clarke tried to help where she could, but there was only so much she was capable of. She still knew so little of their ways, despite her time with them. Each day was as new and fresh and unusual as the last. 

She found rhythm only in their quiet moments, like now. The two women were able to allow the tension in their shoulders to flood away, to set aside the weight which dragged at them. To rub the knots from each others backs and stitch wounds and braid hair and love. Always love, in each motion and movement, love. In their tent it was never far from their eyes, a constant warmth which seemed to scream “Anything you want, I will give. I am yours.”

It was a security Clarke would never take for granted.

Things were easily lost on the ground. Direction, hope, limbs, lives. Nothing was permanent. The brutality of the world which sustained them would take as easily as it gives. Every day is a struggle for dominance, every day is another test to prove that you are worthy of the beautiful sunsets, the feasting and the companionship, the camaraderie of your fellows. Fear is never far away, even if it is sometimes muted by a soft kiss on her temple, or arms circling her from behind when she does not expect it, the way butterflies twist in her stomach. 

Clarke rolls over, nestling herself in the curve of Lexa's body and smiling as the other woman's arms wrap around her waist and hold her there, even as she sleeps. Clarke twines their fingers together, knowing that in a few short hours it will be dawn, the sun will rise with its hopes and its risks. They will leave their tent and find the world waiting for them, armed to the teeth and vengeful at their will to survive. Lexa lets out a breathy, happy hum and Clarke feels her cheeks move on the back of her skull. 

She is smiling as well.


End file.
